Operio
by trufflemores
Summary: 3.15. After, Cisco lets Barry stay with him.


**Operio means to cover, conceal, close, shut, overwhelm.**

 **(In case you aren't on Tumblr, I'm really sick, so short fics are the name of the game until I get my strength back.)**

Cisco gives Barry space because he thinks it's what Barry needs.

He studies Savitar's claw, but after an hour, he still hasn't gotten any meaningful information from it. He knows that it was previously attached to Savitar's body, temporarily crushed into the very bone of Barry's, and now, sterilized and sparkling clean, it rests in Cisco's hands. Beyond that, he speculates. Sitting in front of him, it mocks him as a weapon without context. _What can you tell me about Savitar?_ he asks it.

No genie emerges to clarify. With a small frustrated noise, he sets it down and gets up, deigning to check on their silent charge one room over.

His heart twists at the sight. Barry hasn't moved at all, head turned to the side Iris stood on, tears streaming down his face. His breathing is heavy, stressed; Cisco can't imagine how much pain he must be in. Except he knows what it's like to have a hand shred his heart, and he knows what it's like to hear the words, _Dante died_ , and maybe he knows more than he cares to about _pain_ of that magnitude.

He steps closer and hears soft, barely audible whimpers emerge from the sterile silence. He sighs and doesn't ask, just steps forward until he can squeeze Barry's hand. It sends an electric thrill of horror through Cisco at the cold, like the coma days when Barry was more husk than human, but Barry's eyes are open now, and those days are finally over.

Clasping Barry's hand in both his own, he rubs a thumb over the back of it, trying to warm it up. Tears trickle down the side of Barry's face into the pillow unabated, and he looks so tired that it hurts Cisco to even look at him, and he wishes, not for the first time, that they'd spent more than five minutes entertaining the idea of speedster-strength painkillers.

His hand is still bruised and sore from Barry crushing it, hard enough to almost break bone, and he exhaled deep and survived it, even though Barry's anguished howl squeezed his heart too tight. For six unceasing seconds, Barry was conscious, thrashing under their hands, screaming at the top of his lungs. He lashed out because he couldn't stay still, and it was all Cisco could do not to break loose and run. But on the seventh second he went completely limp, and everyone exhaled.

Cisco says, "Barry."

He doesn't respond, just squeezes Cisco's hand, and he squeezes it harder than Cisco expects, eliciting a tiny grunt of pain because _oof_ , speedsters pack a lot of muscle, and immediately Barry's grip loosens and he tilts his head to look at Cisco. There's deep, dark apology in his expression. "I'm sorry," he whispers. Redness that has nothing to do with lightning bleeds in his eyes, tormented and terrible.

Cisco can't take it. "C'mon," he encourages, getting Barry to sit up with a monumental effort, hand still in his and ah, ah, ah, _Barry_ , and Barry loosens his hand once again and presses his face against Cisco's shoulder for an interminable time. Cisco could not move if he caught fire.

He doesn't know what to make of this New Barry, the one who entered their lives quietly, who attempted to fill the shoes of the Barry who wasn't there when Cisco needed him. Or maybe they were one and the same and Cisco was fooling himself by thinking, somehow, this Barry was really from another universe and understood him more and cared more deeply than that Barry had. He doesn't know and doesn't care, sliding a hand tentatively to hold the back of Barry's head.

Barry rallies and Cisco releases him. He looks up at Cisco with sad puppy eyes and Cisco says, "Come to my place," and there's a little nod before _whoosh_.

Barry moans and collapses on the carpet, almost dropping Cisco in the process, and Cisco catches himself dazedly, looking around and _wow_ , he will never get used to that. He recovers enough to take off when he hears a familiar distressed whine that he's come to know over the past three years. He skids onto the carpet seconds later and has the wastebasket in front of Barry just in time.

He stays close but doesn't touch Barry, aware of the electric shivers that can and will zap him into next week if he makes contact. He learned that the hard way, offering a comforting pat on the back when Barry was too wired and jumping back at the subsequent shock. Barry shivers and groans and he hates his own cowardice a little, but when Barry finally settles and the shocks die to nothing, he takes the basket from him and takes care of it.

When he comes back Barry hasn't moved. He grunts when Cisco helps him up, breathing heavily as they cross the short distance between main room and bedroom. There's an adjacent bathroom and Cisco lets Barry lean on him so he can wash out his mouth, feeling strangely detached, like this isn't Barry, this isn't his apartment, it isn't _his_ arm wrapped around this not-Barry's back.

Reentering the bedroom, they only pause a moment at the threshold. They're too exhausted to argue, or negotiate, or even comment. Barry lowers himself with arthritic slowness onto Cisco's side of the bed, reaching out with his bad arm and a bit lip for the bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand.

Cisco puts a hand on his, intending to slide it out of reach because _it won't work_. Instead, he gets a hold and unscrews the top. Barry reclaims an opened water bottle. Cisco turns aside and flips off the lights. _Plausible deniability_ , he thinks, even though he cannot mistake the sound of Barry shaking out a big handful and downing them in one fell swoop.

It's worth it for the way the whistling in his breath ceases. Cisco crawls into the space beside him and doesn't comment on the proximity. _I don't know what we are,_ he admits, meeting Barry's gaze, and settles a hand on Barry's arm to say, _but I'm here_.

Barry grimaces and Cisco crowds closer so he can rest an arm over Barry's waist. _I'm here_ , he offers, as the agitation creeps back into Barry's breathing. _I'm here_ , he insists, able to _feel_ the pain radiating from Barry, this close, and still he only draws closer. _I'm here._

He still doesn't know what they are, may never, but he knows that Barry needs him, and so he is there.


End file.
